


Fixer Upper

by checkmate



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, peter is tony's kid bc im trash for this trope, sorry its late lmao i tried, this is pure belated christmas fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/checkmate/pseuds/checkmate
Summary: It's freezing, it's nearly Christmas, and Bruce's boiler just broke. Fortunately, the guy upstairs has somewhat of awaywith machinery.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware that this sounds very much like bad porn but I swear it's not. Pretend I finished and posted this two weeks ago OOPS

He might have lived here for over a year, but Bruce had never been upstairs in his apartment block. He never had much need to, really, not knowing the neighbours or holding any desire to get to know them, so finding himself on the next floor, about to knock on some random stranger’s door really wasn't his idea of a good time.

There was a brief pause before the door swung open, much to his surprise. He wasn’t sure he would have opened the door if the positions had been reversed; this neighbourhood didn’t have a great reputation, after all. Bruce at first mistakenly thought the doorway was empty, slightly confused until he looked down and saw a small child, maybe four or five, with a mop of brown hair falling over his eyes. “Hello.” The kid said, his head tilted to the side, wide eyed.

“Oh. Um, hi.” Bruce was taken aback, not expecting the door to open let alone to be greeted by a kid, someone he'd never seen before. He might not socialise much with the other people in his budding, but he at least recognised most of them. Bruce knew he would remember seeing a kid. “Is your mom or dad in?” He tried awkwardly as the boy continued to just stare at him, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Dad!” He shouted behind him. “Someone’s at the door!”

Bruce stood at the threshold as a man, surprisingly young, emerged from the next room in a tacky Christmas jumper featuring a polar bear in a Santa hat. He’d seen him around a few times, but he didn’t know the man’s name. Bruce had never really wanted to, in fact. He’d never exactly been _friendly,_ always rushing somewhere or other, and at least in Bruce’s brief interactions with him, didn't hold back on the biting sarcasm. This probably wasn’t the right door to knock on, he thought. “Pete, come on. What did I tell you about opening the door to strangers?” He said with a frown, pulling his son away from the door gently and putting himself between Bruce and his son. Bruce, blushing, stepped back, half tempted to just turn away and abandon this in favour of a different door.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“What do you want? Do I know you?” He asked gruffly, looking Bruce up and down, taking in his tatty shirt with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not a carol singer, are you?”

Bruce shook his head quickly. “No, I—”

“Because if you’re a carol singer, you shouldn’t waste your time.” He added, ignoring Bruce’s insistence that he was not, in fact, a carol singer.

“No, I live downstairs—”

“Is Peter making too much noise?” The guy interrupted again, incapable of actually letting Bruce get a whole sentence out. “He’s just a kid. He can’t help it. I’ve already vetoed the drum kit so really, you should be thanking me.”

“It’s not… No, I just—”

“I switched him over to instruments where you can plug in headphones.”

“I just need to borrow a screwdriver!” Bruce cut him off, unsure he would ever actually get to ask the question he came up here to ask.

“So… It’s not Peter?”

Bruce stopped himself screaming in frustration. “Peter is fine. I didn’t even know you had a kid living up here. I just need a screwdriver so I can try and sort out my boiler. Please.”

The stranger considered that for a second, before opening the door wider and stepping back, gesturing for Bruce to come in. “What kind of screwdriver do you need?” He asked conversationally, and Bruce nervously stepped into the living room. It was much nicer than his apartment, the tasteful interior design at odds with the obvious child-like touches. Paperchains hung from every surface, and the (real) Christmas tree tucked into the corner was a mish-mash of probably expensive, classy red and gold ornaments and clearly handmade baubles and trinkets that had been crafted with love, if not artistic talent.

“Uh. A cross one?”

He didn’t look impressed. Heaving a large tool box from the cupboard under the sink, he immediately starting rummaging around through tools of all sizes and shapes and Bruce felt suddenly very out of his depth. “Yeah, okay. I’m coming down.” He said decidedly, closing the box.

“What? No, I just need a screwdriver.”

“What’s your plan for the screwdriver?”

Bruce hesitated. Okay, he really knew somewhere between absolutely nothing and zilch about DIY shit. This wasn’t his bag at all, whereas this guy seemed like a total enthusiast if the size of his tool kit was anything to go by. Maybe it was best if he let him take a look. “I don’t know. Something I saw on Google.”

He just shook his head. “Peter, put some shoes on. We’re going to go fix a boiler. I’m Tony, by the way.” He added, much to Bruce’s relief, because he was totally too far into this conversation to ask the guy’s name.

“Bruce.”

“Hello, Bruce.”

Tony locked the door, ushering Peter out in front of him, and Bruce led them back to his own apartment. Fortunately Peter had put a coat on, because his place lacked the warmth and cosiness of Tony’s apartment upstairs, and only part of it was the absence of any heating. He didn’t have the energy or inclination to decorate just for himself, so the extent of his festive spirit was a scrappy bit of tinsel on his door and a shit artificial tree, half the needles falling off, propped up on top of his dresser. “Isn’t it Christmassy in here?” Tony said sarcastically, looking around with a grin. “Jesus, it’s cold. Okay, where’s the problem?”

“Are you a plumber?” Bruce said suspiciously, because DIY was one thing but he didn’t need anyone fucking with his shit if it would invalidate his warranty and only cause him more problems in the future.

“Nope.” Tony said cheerfully, setting his box down on the kitchen work top and inspecting the completely useless boiler. “Don’t worry, Bruce. I’m not an idiot. If I can’t fix it, I’m not going to mess with it. Gas supply and meddling don’t mix well, and I live here too, remember?”

Bruce nodded, somewhat reassured, and offered to make some tea since there wasn’t much else he could do to be helpful. He even dug out some cocoa for Peter who was curled up under Bruce’s blanket in front of the TV while his father worked, and set around making some hot drinks to regain the feeling in his fingers. “So if you’re not a plumber...?”

“I’m an engineer.” Tony explained, the words muffled by the screwdriver clenched between his teeth as he tugged off the front panel of the case covering the boiler. “I like taking things apart. I like putting them back together again slightly less, but when needs must…”

Bruce hoped this counted as needs must. “But you can fix it?” He asked worriedly.

“Go and watch TV with Peter. You’re annoying me.” Tony didn’t beat around the bush, grabbing the screwdriver from between his teeth and loosening a valve efficiently. “If I need something, I’ll shout, okay?”

Bruce wasn’t keen to leave this random guy to tinker with his household appliances freely, but also calling out an actual plumber might take days, and honestly, he didn’t really have the money. If Tony could at least rule out some simple issues even if he couldn’t actually fix it, it would help him out a lot. So he nodded, went into the next room with a steaming mug in each hand, and sat down next to the kid engrossed in the television. Other than a few clatters of dropped tools, Tony didn’t seem to need anything else from him. Bruce let Peter control the remote, and he had settled on some animated Christmas TV special. They sat in silence, and even Bruce had gotten pretty invested in the program as it neared its conclusion, the anthropomorphic animals’ Nativity show going off without a hitch after some really chaotic rehearsals. Peter had a huge grin on his face, and sang along to the song playing over the end credits happily, a trace of cocoa around his mouth.

“He really loves this movie.” Bruce turned around to see Tony leaning against the door frame, smudges of black grease on his hands. “Boiler fixed. Job done.” He said. “Now you might not actually freeze this Christmas.”

“Oh my god. Seriously?” Bruce asked, scrambling to his feet. Tony nodded. “What did you do?”

“A good engineer never shares his secrets.” Tony said seriously, the corner of his mouth turning up into a grin.

“But a clever engineer would tell me so I can fix it myself next time.” Bruce pointed out, but Tony didn’t stop smiling.

“Why do you think I’m keeping it secret?” Tony said. “Come on, Pete. It’s nearly your bed time. See you around, Bruce.”

*

Since Tony fixed his boiler, it had run better than it ever did before. The inconsistent water temperatures, switching from scalding to freezing at seemingly random intervals mid-shower had all but disappeared and Bruce had forgotten what it was like to not be cold all the time as the heating quit whenever it felt like it. And Tony had refused even a single dollar of payment. He didn’t even know the guy. Bruce felt incredibly guilty for ever thinking he came across as unfriendly. Tony might have his own, kind of odd way of interacting with people, sure, but he had no obligation to help Bruce out and yet, here he was in a warm apartment for the first time in weeks, just out of the goodness of one stranger’s heart.

Call it a Christmas miracle, Bruce thought, and laughed even to himself.

It might seem corny, but he was determined to repay Tony in some way. He highly doubted he could repay the guy in favours, and money was apparently out of the question, so Bruce settled for the only currency that was irresistible even to the most coldhearted of people.

He felt a bit silly, knocking on the door with a plateful of cinnamon sugar cookies, but it was the least he could do, really.

When the door finally swung open after several increasingly loud knocks, Bruce backtracked immediately. “Oh! Sorry! I can come back later. I just… I…Never mind. You’re busy. I’ll just—”

Tony was mid-shindig, his apartment full of people and Christmassy music and general festive hubbub as people mingled with drinks. He should have realised he was busy from how long it took to open the door. “Don’t be silly. What’s up? How’s the boiler?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah, it’s great. Thank you so much. That’s kind of why… Uh.” He trailed off, and instead just shoved the plate of cookies in to Tony’s hands. “Um. For you. And Peter, I guess. To say thanks.” He explained unnecessarily, blushing more and more with each passing second. It didn’t help that Tony, instead of an unflattering, ugly Christmas sweater, was wearing a tight fitting button down in a bright, Santa Claus red that hid absolutely nothing. Had he really never noticed his neighbour was very cute? Because this really wasn’t a good time to notice that, when he was already flustered and nervous and awkward.

“You want to come in?” Tony offered, kicking the door open properly. “Mulled wine and mince pies, the whole shebang.”

Bruce’s mouth forgot how to form words, and by the time he had remembered how to politely say ‘no thank you’, that he didn’t want to intrude, Tony had already yanked him in and closed the door behind him.

One glass of mulled wine, then, and then he would make his exit. “Where’s Peter tonight?” He asked, not seeing any sign of the boy after a quick glance around. There must have been twenty adults milling around and not a child in sight.

“With his mom.” Tony said casually, pressing a glass of mulled wine into one hand and a plate laden with mince pies and sausage rolls into the other.

“Oh.” Bruce worried that he’d touched a nerve, but Tony didn’t seem bothered at all.

“It’s okay. It’s amicable.” He read Bruce’s expression easily, unphased as he led him by the elbow into the living room, a log fire crackling merrily in the corner, filling the room with the smell of wood. Bruce took a drink from the warm wine to hide both his embarrassment at mentioning Peter and his general awkwardness when surrounded by strangers who all seemed to know each other already but he doubted it fooled Tony. “No-one here bites, I promise.” He said, finally letting go of Bruce’s arm.

He hated himself just a little bit for wishing Tony had left his hand there a little longer. Bruce wasn't doing this. Not again. The guy fixed his boiler once, he brought him sugar cookies in exchange, that's it. Interaction over. Except Bruce was still in his apartment and oh god someone was coming over and “So…” The newcomer said with a sly look in his eye, glancing from Tony to Bruce. “Tony, are you going to introduce me to your _friend_?”

He was blonde and only a little taller than Bruce but far stockier, with bulging biceps obvious under what was possibly the tackiest Christmas sweater of all time. It flashed with fairy lights sewn into the front, and proudly proclaimed “Kiss me under the mistletoe”, fully accompanied by downward pointing arrow.

Wow.

“Bruce, Clint. Clint, Bruce.” Tony said with no frills whatsoever, and made to direct Bruce anywhere else in the room, but Clint was too quick, darting back into their path with ease.

“And where do we know Bruce from?” He probed, the grin on his face spreading helplessly.

“I live downstairs.” He explained, but somehow that didn't wipe the look off of his face at all. “Tony helped me fix my boiler the other day and I just…” He trailed off. Definitely such thing as too much information.

Clint, on the other hand, seemed to disagree. “Tony? Tony helped you fix your _boiler_?”

Tony excused himself, ducking out of the conversation quickly. Bruce frowned as he watched his head vanish into the crowd across the room. “Yeah.” He said, turning back to Clint. “What? I only wanted a screwdriver but since he’s an engineer he’d have more clue than me. He insisted.”

Clint choked on his drink. “You’re joking, right?” He managed, wiping mulled wine from his chin as he snorted with laughter. “You’re pulling my leg.”

Bruce frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The man stopped laughing, his eyes wide and incredulous. Tony had completely disappeared, not a trace of him in the apartment as far as Bruce could see. “You don’t know who he is?”

Bruce shrugged, unsure as to why he _would_ know his upstairs neighbour. He didn’t follow who was hot right now in engineering, after all.

“Tony _Stark_?” Clint said, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Bruce blinked, shocked into silence. _Tony Stark._ Even he had heard of Tony Stark, as unversed as h e was in popular culture. He was somewhat of a celebrity not for his work--although that too was astonishing, and barely could be covered by the term ‘engineer’--but for being nothing more than his father’s son. The tabloids didn’t care when he designed and invented something that revolutionised sanitised water in developing countries, but definitely did when he was seen out and around with a selection of super models.

They cared even more when he began to appear with a selection of supermodels that included men.

“Oh.” He said simply. “I didn’t realise.”

Before Clint had a chance to do anything more than roll his eyes, Tony reappeared, and Clint didn’t need to say anything else. His expression said it all for him. “How are we getting on?” He beamed, pressing another glass of mulled wine into Bruce’s empty hand. He noticed he hadn’t bothered getting clint one. “Cheers.” He added, clinking their glasses together, and perched on the arm of his couch. Tony grinned as though nothing had happened, but he was a little red around the ears.

“Thanks.” Bruce let Tony decide if it was for the drinks or for the DIY. “So, um…”

He trailed off, not really sure how to say ‘oh my god you're Tony Stark why the fuck did you waste your time fixing my boiler’ without, well… without saying precisely that and embarrassing himself to the end of the earth. Clint smirked, enjoying every second of the awkwardness he fucking caused, and Tony looked at him expectantly. He bought some time by sipping on the wine, but the alcohol wasn't doing anything to hide his flush of embarrassment.

“So you're fixing boilers now?” Clint chipped in, stealing a sausage roll from the plate in Tony's hand. “I'll have to bear that in mind.”

Tony seemed more annoyed by the sausage roll theft that the shit stirring comment. “Friends and family only.” He shot back.

“Oh, so Mr Downstairs is a friend and I'm not?” He held a hand to his heart in mock hurt. “You wound me, Stark.”

Tony slid his arm around Bruce's shoulder and steered him away from Clint, ignoring the comments he shouted after them. Bruce stood stiff, not sure how he ended up in this Very Attractive Man’s apartment again. Time to make an exit before he embarrassed himself. “Um. Well. Thanks for the drink.” He said nervously, ducking out from Tony’s touch and putting his empty glass down on the side board. “I should be getting back, but uh, I hope you and Peter enjoy the cookies.”

Tony frowned. “Don't feel you have to go on his account. Clint is great but, well, _crude._ ”

“No, no, it's not that, I'm just… I should go. But enjoy your night.” Bruce made for the door before stopping and turning back. “Oh, and merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Tony replied, watching him leave. Bruce gave him an awkward wave before shutting the door behind him.

*

Christmas Eve. Not exactly Bruce's favourite day of the year. With no last minute preparations to do (he'll go to his cousin’s place tomorrow, who refused to accept anything from him), he just mooched around his unfestive apartment, flipping through bad TV and wondering if anywhere would still be open for a take out this late.

And then he heard scuffling outside his front door, and voices that were probably meant to be hushed but that had failed. Bruce stiffened--this place could be a hotspot for holiday crime when people were more likely to be away from their homes, and the absolute last thing he wanted to deal with right now was someone breaking down his door.

His insurance was high enough as it was.

“Who's there?” He shouted, clutching the biggest kitchen knife he possessed tightly in one hand. “I'm armed!”

The voices fell silent, and then someone started to giggle. A child, he realised quickly, and then Tony’s voice rang out. “Remind me to never try and surprise you, Bruce.”

He flushed horribly, threw the knife down onto his counter, and yanked the door open. Tony stood, a package in slightly ripped paper in his hands, and Peter in a big coat and a bobble hat still giggling next to him. “I'm so sorry! I didn't realise—”

“What is this? Home Alone?” Tony chortled. “I couldn't get this in your mail box.” He explained holding up the battered wrapping paper as evidence. “So I guess, here.”

He held it out and Bruce hesitantly took the parcel, feeling bad because he didn't even think to get Tony something. They've only met twice, for God's sake. “Oh. Um. Thanks.”

“Don't open it now!” Peter piped up in horror as Bruce went to slide a finger under the tape. “You have to wait until Christmas! Dad says it's bad luck to open presents before Christmas morning!” He was so earnest in his concern that Bruce had no choice but to leave it unwrapped. Tony grinned at him.

“I'm sorry, I didn't think to—”

Tony shrugged it off. “Trust me, those cookies were so good, they _over_ -repayed the boiler. Don't sweat it. It's just something small anyway.”

Bruce smiled back. “Thank you.”

“I'll let you get back to it. I'm sure you've got plenty to be getting on with.” He didn't, but Tony probably did, since Christmas with kids was always much more of a chore than Christmas with adults. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Bruce echoed.

*

“Who's that from?” Jennifer asked, pointing at the battered box looking so out of place under their pristine tree.

Bruce tried to play it cool, but he knew the blush gave it away. He didn't know what it was about Tony, but he made Bruce feel like a kid again. “A friend.”

“Open it first.” She demanded, reading more of the truth into Bruce's words than he might have liked. “Go on, I want to see what your _friend_ got you.”

He picked it up nervously, hoping it was something small or he'd feel ridiculously inadequate, and peeled off the remains of the paper.

It was a screwdriver. Bruce started to laugh. “Inside joke.” He explained when Jen frowned in confusion.

“There's a note.” She pointed out helpfully, and Bruce snatched it before she had a proper chance to read it first.

_Maybe I could show you how to use it some time? ;) — Tony_

**Author's Note:**

> Belated happy holidays and happy new year to all! Here's to 2017 being less shit.


End file.
